Forty-two.

whacky emotionals

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You can’t expect me to be fine,
I don’t expect you to care
I know I’ve said it before
But all of our bridges burned down.

– Payphone by Maroon 5

One of the things that I hate most about being human is running the long gamut of emotions that any one person can. I really despise having to feel things outside of the positive emotions. However, I know that humans are one of those complex creatures, so we kind of have to run the gamut now and again. I would much prefer to not bother with some of the other emotional responses humans can go through, but again, I know that I have no choice. That doesn’t mean I have to particularly like it.

Last night, before I went to bed, I was blissfully numb. I say blissfully because it didn’t matter what I thought of because it didn’t impact me on an emotional level. I went to sleep completely numb to everything that was going on around me. I think this is probably how humans start to deal with the emotional gamut. When we’re shocked out of the status quo of our lives, we go into this sort of numbing embrace. And that numbing embrace is one of those things that I particularly like. I’ve been numb a lot lately, trying to process everything that’s been going on in my personal life, and I find it much easier to handle whatever it is going on in my life when I’m in that particular stage.

I find it easier to look at things logically. I also find it easier to decide what the correct emotional response will be. Chances are, if I’m blowing up at someone, it’s not because I just enjoy flying off the handle. Contrary to popular belief, I don’t actually enjoy making other people feel like shit. Honestly, if I’m flying off the handle, it’s probably because I went through a long or short period of “numbness,” looked over the entirety of the situation, and chose the appropriate [in my eyes] emotional response. If there’s something I got from the horror fest that was my married life to my ex-husband, it was the ability to go into a numbing time-out and pick what appropriate emotional response would come out next. (And that was actually kind of important when married to a control freak.)

However, in this situation, I’m not able to stay in that numb phase. I can’t just plunk myself down and remain there. I can do so – prepare myself, so to speak – if and when I’m discussing the situation with the people I care to share it with. However, I can’t stay there. I keep waffling between being emotional numb inside, in an effort to choose the correct emotional response, to heartbroken to furious. And no matter how much I try to tell myself that the heartbroken and the furious are not emotional responses that I have chosen for myself, I still feel them anyway.

At about four thirty this morning, I woke up irrationally angry. And by “irrational,” I mean that I seriously considered throwing things out on the front of the house and see how quickly TH’s video game collection disappears. And by “irrational,” I mean that I seriously considered the idea of breaking his Xbox (all of them). And by “irrational,” I mean that I seriously considered walking over there and punching him in the face. I was not at my best. I had been having dreams about work in a definite effort to escape from the other dreams that could have manifested, which pisses me off because I’m at work all the time anyway. And it pisses me off because I was doing the great art of escapism in my dreams. The worst part about being irrationally angry is that it sets your adrenaline pumping with all of the angry, nasty things you want to say and then you can’t fall asleep again… even though you really should because you have a five-year-old who is a practiced steamroller and may not let you nap later.

I was up for two fucking hours being irrationally angry. I thought about all of the fun things I need to get going for this weekend. The absolute most fun part will be the disseminating of our lives together between the two of us, which is what originally made me so irrationally angry. I get to go through all the things we bought together, for each other, and put them all in a place together so that he can pick his shit up at some point. And do you know how much shit you accumulate when you’ve been together for nearly seven years? Yeah, that’s a lot of shit.

Gee, I wonder why I got so angry.

After a while, even irrational anger, fury, and rage have to take a break. And I was able to fall back to sleep after a while.

And when I woke up to my beautiful little man’s face, I felt nothing but heartbreak. I felt nothing but sorrow at the fact that I have to walk alone now. I felt nothing but sorrow at the fact that I am truly and honestly following in my mother’s footsteps. (Could going back to Texas be too far behind?) I didn’t even have the energy to get angry again. I just felt nothing but anguish. I felt anguish as I bundle up my son to go get milk for his breakfast. I felt nothing but anguish as we raced up the steps and out of the rain with our gallon of milk. I felt nothing but anguish at the thought of all the cleaning I need to do today. I felt nothing more than crying, but I won’t because I don’t know how to handle my son’s questions when he finds me crying.

I’ve thought about my sadness. I’ve thought about it and why I feel that way. My friends have all told me that it was for the best. And in a way, yes that’s true. I don’t hold with TH’s little brother’s fucked up decisions to stay with his crazy girlfriend because they have a kid together. I think my sorrow stems from the fact that I get to be another asexual statistic. I get to be yet another asexual person who loved someone who couldn’t love them back.

And now I have to agree with Maroon 5.

If “Happy Ever After” did exist,
I would still be holding you like this
All those fairy tales are full of shit
One more fucking love song, I’ll be sick.

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DON’T PANIC

This is my blog. This is where I vent. This is where I ponder. This is where I go to feel more like myself if I'm feeling out of control. If you don't like what I say, then don't read it. I am who I am; I write what I will.

Your life story would not make a good book. Don't even try. - Fran Lebowitz